


Stuck Inside the Past

by toxicbalance



Series: Even Broken Wings Can Learn to Fly [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Community: makinghugospin, Gen, for some reason I can't write anything with happy people, kink meme fill, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicbalance/pseuds/toxicbalance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hates feeling this way. Feeling like he’s going to just vibrate out of his skin. Feeling like he is so fucking close to ripping his hair out. Feeling like almost anything or anywhere is better than where he is.</p><p>See the thing is that he knows what everyone thinks about him. He knows that he doesn’t really belong with everyone else. That he’s just the big dumb guy who doesn’t go to class. And it makes him want to scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck Inside the Past

He hates feeling this way. Feeling like he’s going to just vibrate out of his skin. Feeling like he is so fucking close to ripping his hair out. Feeling like almost anything or anywhere is better than where he is.

See the thing is that he knows what everyone thinks about him. He knows that he doesn’t really belong with everyone else. That he’s just the big dumb guy who doesn’t go to class. And it makes him want to scream.

But he can’t bring himself to do that so he punches the piece of wall that he keeps purposefully bare. And it hurts. But it’s not making anything better right now and now he just wants to punch something again until his knuckles are running with blood. 

Bahorel leans his head against the wall and tries to stop himself from hyperventilating. fuckfuckfuck. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe and he’s shaking and fuck. His mind won’t (can’t) slow down and he knows that it’s going to drive him over the edge.

His fingers shake on the buttons of his phone. He knows that he should call someone, text someone but he can’t. He can’t ask for help (he’s never been able to).

The doorbell rings and Bahorel exhales a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.  

“Bahorel? Are you there?” It’s Combeferre. Thank fuck Bahorel thinks, because if there are any of his friends he would want to be here, it’s Combeferre.

He can’t go to the door. He can’t. And he can’t say that it’s open. Not yet. So Bahorel forces his fingers (shaking still shaking) to text Combeferre that the door is open. The door opens and Combeferre walks in.

Bahorel doesn’t (can’t) bring himself to turn around. He doesn’t want to see Combeferre’s face. Doesn’t want to see what Combeferre thinks about his showing cracks.

He flinches when he feels Combeferre stand next to him.

“Do you mind if I stand here?” Combeferre’s voice is steady, calming. Bahorel feels frozen, like he can’t move (can’t even acknowledge his friend) and fuck. If he thinks about how he can’t do anything it’s just going to get worse.

“I’m just going to sit here. I won’t move unless you tell me to. I’m not going to touch you don’t worry.” If Bahorel could pull himself out of this he would thank him. Because it seems like Combeferre knows exactly how to deal with this and fuckfuckfuck. For some reason knowing that makes Bahorel’s breathing slow down. Combeferre keeps talking to him, his voice slow and steady.

Bahorel sinks to his knees and braces his back against the wall.

“Fuck”

“Do you want anything?” Combeferre asks. Bahorel appreciates how he isn’t being asked if he’s okay. Because fuck. He hates that question.

“I don’t know.” Bahorel closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to see how he cracks open (doesn’t want to see Combeferre’s look of pity).

“Do you want me to stay where I am?” Combeferre’s voice hasn’t changed.

“I...yes.”

“Do you want to say what caused this?” Combeferre doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about it and Bahorel wants to hug him.

“Yes and no.” He curls his shoulders down, into himself (waiting for what he expects to happen when he doesn’t answer a question).

“That’s ok.” Bahorel sees Combeferre settle against the wall.

Bahorel waits to see if Combeferre is really going to stay. He does.

“It was,” Bahorel pauses, “it was a discussion in class about. fuck.” He grinds his palm against his eyes. Combeferre doesn’t move. “About parents and. I don’t remember how or even why someone brought up how parents love their children. And someone else brought up...something else.” He can’t bring himself to say the word. “And they were just so wrong and I couldn’t say anything because fuck. And there is so much fucking work right now. And I try to work on it and it’s stressing me out and I can’t do anything about it because I keep trying to focus and I keep remembering and I hate it.” Bahorel falls silent and doesn’t look at Combeferre (amazing perfect Combeferre who hasn’t moved or said anything).

“Do you want some tea?” Bahorel almost laughs, because Combeferre always offers anyone tea when he thinks they need comfort but can't ask for it.

“I don’t-yes.” It feels like a confession.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to start the water.” Combeferre unfolds from the wall and goes to the kitchen. Bahorel can hear the water filling up the pot (the same model that Combeferre gave everyone on their birthdays a year ago). Combeferre waits in the kitchen for the tea to be ready. He returns to Bahorel with two cups and hands one to him. Bahorel watches Combeferre sit down exactly where he was previously sitting.

Bahorel waits for his tea to reach the temperature where it won’t burn his tongue but still sends warmth through him.

“Thank you,” he says when he finishes his tea. Combeferre is still sitting in the same spot, his own tea finished.

“You don’t really need to thank me Bahorel.”

Bahorel catches Combeferre’s arm when he moves to leave.

“Yes I do."


End file.
